


Tumblr Dragon Age Oneshots

by Careful_Mimicry



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Art, Blow Job, Dancing, Dry Humping, F/F, Fluff, Gay Sex, Greek Mythology AU, Hades!Fenris - Freeform, Long Distance Relationship, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Orlesian Masquerade, Persephone!Hawke - Freeform, Phone Sex, Romance, Smut, Sweetness, Winter, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Careful_Mimicry/pseuds/Careful_Mimicry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I see a lot of art on tumblr that inspires me so here it is. It is also posted on my tumblr. I will give credit to all artists and links to their pages. </p>
<p>If you have art or a prompt you'd like me to write for, please let me know on tumblr- http://carefulmimicry.tumblr.com/ask</p>
<p>All stories will be labeled as SFW or NSFW and the pairing in the chapter title and on the contents page (chapter one).</p>
<p>(All art posted and stories written with the express permission of the artist)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Table of Contents:**

Story One: _Fenris/M!Hawke, SFW, winter snuggles_

Story Two: _Fenris/M!Hawke, SFW, winter kisses_

(I have an unhealthy obsession with winter and cold weather.)

Story Three _: Fenris/M!Hawke, NSFW, phone sex_

Story Four:  _Josephine/Isabela, SFW, Orlesian Masquerade_

Story Five:  _Hades!Fenris/Persephone!MHawke, NSFW, the story of Persephone and Hades_


	2. Fenris/M!Hawke (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All credit for art and inspiration for the story goes to Drisrt (http://drisrt.tumblr.com/).

 

The day presented itself in the cool greys and icy blues of an early October winter. The leaves lay as pale smatterings on a wet and well trodden ground. Thick, rolling clouds pulled a dimming filter across the world and the sun stretched in vain to touch the earth with her warming caress.

It was a day for inside voices and cozy blankets. It was a day for thick, knit sweaters and marshmellowed drinks. It was a day for ease of conversation and tides of silence.

The wind was soft, but biting in it’s chill. Fingers like snakes creeping through each pore and gap in the armor of warmth and needling against already cool skin. It swept easily down the large neck of Garrett’s red sweatshirt, which flopped heavy waves atop itself up to his jaw. He was a creature of colder climates and the frore breath of the breeze was found wanting against his accustomed flesh.

Fenris, whose weighted, black sweater struggled in earnest to keep the out the nip of wind, had assumed a stiff position, one leg perched on the edge of their shared bench, arm coiled around it, contracting to gather what warmth he could.

The elf had been fair warned before they departed the house, but had paid his nagging human little mind. He had, however, relented his argument against shoes and had allowed Garrett to fashion him some slipper-type contraption from and old blanket.

He would not admit he was grateful for the gesture.

They had meandered with messy and haphazard care through the streets of Kirkwall before finally arriving at the large memorial garden. The fresh greenery was built in the courtyard of the towering marble of the Chantry, an homage to a devastating tragedy now obscured by the tides of time.

Given the weather it was not a popular day to be about in the city, warm enough to provide little hope but cold enough that people preferred to keep shut away in warm houses and beds. The square was silent save the echoing of shutters flapping in the breeze and the snap of flag’s tails catching on the tug and pull of wind.

The brisk air smelt of coming snow and decaying foliage and the vaguest hints of withering flowers. Garrett, forearms braced on his knees, allowed himself to breath the mixture deep into his lungs.

Fenris was less comfortable in the creeping cool of seasons changing and kept half his face buried in one bulky sleeve, eyes tracking the scrape and slide of the last free-standing leaves that not yet been ground into the pavement. His mind rang in the silence, ears twitching, seeking relief from the painful silence.

Garrett was warm beside him. Though they did not sit shoulder to shoulder he could feel the welcoming heat of his boyfriend rolling towards him in tempting waves. Beckoning him ever closer. _He’s doing it on purpose._ His mind hissed as he pressed the toes of his dangling foot to the soggy ground and slid his body just an inch closer, shivering at the increasing temperature.

Garrett, for his part, did not seem to noticed the subtle, minute movement of his lover, contented to stare listlessly into the shadowed alleys and weedy stairways about them. Fenris’ eyes swept across his face, something bored and tired but comfortable, rested there. There was nothing to do but the distant gleam in his eyes spoke that he wanted for nothing to do.

The soft swish of sweater and squelch of fabric in puddle signaled another creeping slide closer to the human radiator beside him. Their arms pressed tight now and the elf groaned deep in his throat at the swelter roiling around him, encasing his arm where they touched- even through thick and repeated layers.

But still Garrett did not move, twitching only slightly as the slicing wind gained bravado with it’s next sweep through the gardens.

It did not faze the human but the cold cut straight to Fenris’ bone and he pressed against the sodden ground once more to twist his body into Garrett’s. The wind irked him and the silence and boredom rushed out of his lungs as a heavy sigh, his face burying in the endlessly soft fabric of his partner’s coat. The heat washed over his face and neck, sending a blush high on his cheeks and burning the tips of his pointe ears.

Garrett yet did not move, having sunk deep into the endless nothing of the minutes stretching by.

“You’re warm.” The elf mumbled into the crimson fabric pressed tight against his face, the smell and taste of his lover washing in a delicious and delirious wave over his senses.

“And you’re cold.” Fenris more felt than heard the human say, a rye smile sunk deep into his otherwise impassive words.

He scowled at the accusation, regardless of statement’s veracity, “I am bored.” He quipped back, one hand weaving effortlessly into Garrett’s pocket, locking gently with the fingers already tucked within. Large, warm fingers that stiffened at the deathly chill of his own.

“Sometimes it’s good to be bored.” Came the quiet reply, rushed out on the wind of a sigh that rumbled deep in his chest, purring along Fenris’ cheek and neck, which were nestled so close.

“It reminds us of everything wonderful.” Garrett finished, the smile was not hidden this time and with the words Fenris felt the bigger man’s body shift. The rush of hot air scorched across his exposed ear and neck, warm, chapped lips ghosting oh so delicately against his temple. They remained there and the spot tingled with warmth and the feel of a smile against his cool skin.

“Meus es tu spiritus.” Came his rumbling reply.

They remained for long moments, until the shadows fell too heavily around them and what feeble warmth the hidden sun had provided evaporated. Boredom washed over them in tugging waves in time with the crashing ocean not far away. Together they sank deep into the nothingness of the moment, allowing everything to roll back out.

With a telling squeeze of Fenris’ hand Garrett shifted to stand, their hand remained joined and their steps carried them in careless patterns away from the silence and stillness of the world.


	3. Fenris/M!Hawke (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All credit for art and the inspiration for this story goes to cerealism (http://cerealism.tumblr.com/).

 

It was winter solstice and some of the gang had volunteer to do watch rounds on the Wounded Coast so that Aveline and Donnic could get their first night off together in a long time.

Well… Garrett had volunteered then popped into The Hangedman after the rest of the crew was already drunk on some form of egg liqueur and spiced mead and dragged them out. That’s what volunteering was, right? Sounded right to him.

Isabela and Varric were grumbling unhappily at the whole situation, but were drunk enough to still crack jokes and at least put on a good face about the whole thing.

Hawke and Fenris were nearly twenty paces ahead of the pair and were walking in relative silence. The night was full of an itching cold, and no upsets were really expected so everyone was dressed in coats and jackets as opposed to proper armor.

This meant that, for once, Fenris did not have his gauntlets on.

Garrett was taking full advantage of the situation. He walked close to the elf, their shoulders brushing, their gloved hands not quite clasped but tucked neatly together between them.

The rogues’ voices were made thin and high by the cool air and were altogether easily ignored. Besides, the sharp gusts of wind carried half of their conversation away, disturbing Hawke and Fenris with nothing more than a couple of chuckles and a few lewd jokes.

“Sorry… to uh… to have dragged you into this.” Hawke murmured, daring to break the steady, comfortable silence that had nestled between them.

Fenris merely shrugged, a small smile tugging just so at the corner of his lips, “I cannot say I am totally displeased.” He finally admitted, a slight pink staining his ears.

Normally that small flush would send Hawke’s body into a flurry, but not that night. Perhaps it was the cold, or the still, or the beauty of the world so quiet and calm and blanketed in white. Whatever the reason that night he just felt a flutter in his chest, something warm, bubbling and soothing. He slid that much closer to the man beside him, brushing his nose against the tip of his ear.

“Oh? Should I take you on midnight strolls more often?” He murmured, breath a hot rush against the pointed curve. Garrett pulled back to meet his soft gaze and waggled his eyebrows. Fenris huffed out a small laugh, eyes reflecting the million stars as he smirked back at the human, “Maybe without the kids next time.” Garrett cast a glance over his shoulder at the pair behind them, now making silly faces and throwing snowballs, and laughed arm coiling around Fenris’ shoulders and drawing him closer still.

Fenris let out a small, contented sigh and ghosted his lips across Hawkes cheek. The human giggled and gave his hips a satisfied wiggle. The motion knocked his footing from him, setting him off balance.

With an undignified yelp and a scrabble of flailing limbs he managed to catch himself on his companion.

Fenris, who was wearing boots (and was exceedingly displeased about that fact. It had taken Hawke’s puppy eyes and whining, “but your poor wittwe toesies will be cold!” To get him into them) was unable to hold his own balance. He was not used to the leather and the feel of sole versus solid ground.

The elf grunted softly as he tumbled to the ground with Hawke and the pair slid slowly, agonizingly, down the shallow hill they’d been on. It was just slippery enough that each attempted scrabble to gain purchase on the hard ground only sent them spinning a bit faster. Unfortunately it was solid enough that their trip was meandering and easy, feeling like hours before they finally had reached the bottom of the incline and stopped moving.

Hawke, who was crushed beneath Fenris, was giggling madly and writhing about, trying to get free, which was only entangling the pair more.

“Garrett, stop-”

He was rewarded with an accidental elbow to the face.

“Oh!” Hawke churned his body around to face Fenris, “Oh no I’m so sorry!” The smile and restrained laughter said otherwise and caused Fenris to sigh with forced exasperation in an attempt to cover his own chuckles.

Hawke just shook harder with unrestrained giggles. “Oh please, please, let me help!” He cooed, reaching up two mittened hands and pulling Fenris’ face down to his own.

Just before he could press a kiss to the small bruise already forming on the warrior’s cheek, Isabela and Varric rounded the corner. Isabela, too drunk and cold for any form of witty reply just rolled her eyes, “Oh, puh-lease, get a room. Or a rock. Or a cave. Or a small patch of tall grass, I don’t care.”

Varric chortled and helped steady the pair as they stood up. The rogues continued to wander on, leaving the human and elf behind to mill about in their mutual embarrassment.

Fenris had already brushed most of the snow from his body but when he turned to look at Hawke, the human hadn’t moved at all, he just stood, staring like an idiot with a subtle, unreadable expression on his face.

Fenris shifted awkwardly under the gaze before stepping forward with arms extended, “Garrett, you’re covered in snow.” He brushed the other male off with slow, lingering movements.

Hawke sighed softly and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter that he had more layers on than he could count, or that Fenris was doing nothing more than brushing off snow, the careful ministrations still felt nice.

Fenris let a small smile play on his own lips as he carefully dusted the powder from his lover. He allowed his hands to move leisurely, easily brushing snow off while taking his time to enjoy the small contact. Even through the coat and clothes he could feel the warmth of the human’s body, could feel the thrum of magic rolling off of him, could feel the small, delighted shivers Garretts body gave at his touch.

He finished his task standing behind Hawke and he took a moment to admire the man’s dark silhouette against the glittering sky and sea. With a warm smile Fenris slipped his arms around Hawke from behind, stepping forward to press his chest to Hawke’s back.

His arms curled around his human’s waist and drew the male against him. Fenris nuzzled his face into the fur of Garrett’s hood and the warm flesh of his neck. A low, satisfied hum rolled through his body and the pair stood, quiet and still. Garrett’s head dropped back to the elf’s shoulder and he let out a slow, calming breath that fogged in the air.

The moon was just rising in the dark blanket of stars and the reflection off the dark, slow rolling, winter ocean was breathtaking. The light illuminated coast in waves of pulsing twinkles. Human and elf took a long moment to watch the lapping tide and sparkle of stars.

“I love you, Fen.” It was a quiet whisper, soft and delivered right into its recipient’s ear. Even so the sound rang in his mind, like a bellow across the coast. It rocketed through Fenris’ body and his arms squeezed just a little tighter.

His own whisperers were pressed tight against his mage’s neck, warm lips and hot breath accompanying the words in a gentle caress, “Ma aureum, meus vita est vestri. Meus viscus est vestri.” A chill tingled along Hawke’s spine at the words and he reached back to rest a hand against the back of Fenris’ neck, mitten scratching pleasantly at the soft flesh there.

“Some day you’ll tell me what you’re saying.” He murmured with a small, contented smile. Fenris hid his own matching one in the fabric of Hawke’s coat, “Perhaps.” Was all he replied and again the silence fell around them like a warm blanket.

They had been standing like that for what felt like ages, comfortable, warm and quiet. Neither of them wanted to move, both contented to remain close, enjoying the other’s company, their mere presence and their willingness to simply exist for a moment. They were always moving, always on the go and fighting and always doing something. To have this minute, this everlasting moment of peace and gentle presence was more than either had hoped for from this night.

The world was bathed in beautiful white snow, the moon glowed low and heavy in the sky and the stars sang a song from a billion galaxies away that was only heard as a whisper on the wind.

  
Garrett turned his head toward Fenris and the elf lifted his his own from the other’s neck and their mouths met. The kiss was gentle and soft, lips moving in a loving caress that made Hawke’s chest ache with the feel of it and made Fenris’ arms clench and hold his mage closer. When finally they parted from the tender kiss Fenris wore a rare smile and Garrett couldn’t help but match it with one of his own.

The elf pressed another kiss to the human’s forehead, whispering against the cool skin once more, “I am yours.” Garrett’s reply was easy but, as usual, flooded with love and dedication, “Always.”


	4. Fenris/M!Hawke (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by a picture from leandrasboy (http://leandrasboy.tumblr.com/) I give them all credit for art and inspiration. I take credit only for the literal, physical writing.

 

It was in the twilight hours that they spoke. Those fuzzy, in between times where the sun stretched it’s final bow and the moon slipped into her bed of inky black night. A time where minds lingered in gaps between speech and bodies were stirred into restless motion.

Garrett’s face drew into a lazy smile as he thumbed a message into his phone. He had just arrived home from work and his fingers itched to speak with Fenris, who was no doubt nearing his bedtime. There were scant few moments to talk, when the sun and stars aligned just right to allow them conversation. Often one would wake up early, or the other find sleep just a tad later than would normally be recommended.

Hawke  
_I may not be an organ donor, but I’d give my heart to you._

He wanted to drop the phone beside him, to pull his laptop onto his stomach and get started on the documentation he had left over from the day. In fact that’s what he  _ should  _ do. But all things responsible and adult seemed to drift out the window in the breeze whenever his lover was involved. He must have been near his phone because his reply was swift.

Fenris  
_I’d prefer… other pieces of your anatomy._

Garrett nearly choked on the beer he was sipping, thrusting himself up off his back to cough and splutter out a raucous laugh.

Hawke  
_That can be arranged._

Fenris  
_Still attached to it’s personhood, I hope._

Hawke  
_It’s personhood is the best part about it._

Fenris  
_Is it? It’s been so long since I’ve seen either._

His fingers faltered once more, mind clicking in it’s hesitance to respond with his immediate thought. A quick glance over his attire settled the debate. It wouldn’t be  _ dirty _ , just a picture. They sent pictures all the time. Garrett lounged back on one elbow, red and black plaid shirt draped open to reveal the tight t-shirt he wore beneath. He put on his best sultry smirk and winked at the lense then quickly tapped  _ send _ near seven times before he had a chance to change his mind.

Fenris  
_Well, if that’s the case then the personhood would, indeed, be a fine addition._

A pout drooped his lips at the answer. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or what he was hoping for, but that wasn’t it. The thought tickled at the back of his brain, nudging and itching between the hemispheres before nestling itself contentedly in his frontal lobe.

Hawke  
_What, I don’t get anything? You’ve got personhood, too!_

In the subsequent lapse of conversation his mind began to whirl. It had been seven years. Seven wonderful, glorious,  _ sexy  _  years. But still Fenris was a shadow of an Enigma to him. Every day, each conversation there was a new twist, some fresh discovery for Hawke to uncover about his boyfriend. He loved it, relished in each awakening moment, but the thrill also held a quiet trill of fear behind it. Of not knowing, of hidden limits or secret lines.

When his phone chirruped next it slapped him quickly from the trail of thought. Garrett flicked the phone open quickly and a soft groan whispered from his parted lips.

Fenris was shirtless, hair tousled from too little, or perhaps too much, sleep. His eyes were heavy with sleep and comfort and his body sank deep into the deep ocean sheets below him. In the half-light of the moon his tattoos seemed to echo in a silver-blue light, skin dark and radiant against the blue background. One arm, wound tight with corded, lean muscle, tucked neatly behind his head, the other stretched up, a casual flex taunt in the muscle as he held the phone up to snap the shot.

Hawke  
_You’d better be careful or I might not be able to help myself._

Fenris  
_What if I wanted you to help yourself?_

Bold words from sure fingers that stirred a smile to Garrett’s face. The message caused a small chuckle to bubble up into his chest, it wasn’t uncommon for them to tease each other. To test who would break first, be unable to continue the jest. Eventually one would phone the other in surrender and they would speak in slurred, tired phrases until one fell asleep or the other had to rise for the day.

Hawke  
_I’d say that I might need some assistance with that_

He nearly giggled as he wrote it and he could practically see the determined set of Fenris’ jaw as he thought up his own reply.

Fenris  
_Oh yeah? You thinking pictures or words?_

* * *

 

The smirk burgeoning across his lips was verging on  _ evil _ . It wasn’t often he lost their little game, he had patience and willpower, Garrett was lucky if he struggled through a day with the semblance of being a respectable adult hanging about him. He knew the waves of laughter his reply would send Garrett into and was sure the other would be unable to manifest a serious reply without making jest. Fenris held his phone up, waiting for the relenting call that was sure to follow.

Hawke  
_Oh, pictures, definitely_

Fenris quirked an eyebrow, the triumphant smile fading from his lips, a brand of confusion beginning to take it’s place. He would not give in, though. He would not simply allow Garrett to win, the man needed no more encouragement or inflation of his ego.

With careful and exact movements, Fenris propped his phone against the lamp on his bedside table. WIth less precise motions he kicked the sheets off his legs and wriggled to slide his boxers low, low,  _ low  _ over his hips. Sharp wings of bone layered in muscle shone in the half-light coming through his partially shuttered windows. He positioned himself on his back, one knee bent, leg flopped casually off to the side, the other foot planted flat against the bed, his groin spread, hips tipped towards the camera invitingly.

He tilted his head back, throat arched up, lips parted  _ just so _ in an expression Garrett knew deliciously well. His body formed a tight line, muscle tensed, mid motion, mid  _ sensation _ . Eyes bright, hooded and spying the camera with a wry twist of his lip.

* * *

He had been joking. He  _ had been  _ joking. He’d never expected Fenris to be so bold. The man was cool and confident but always shrouded in subtleties. The picture was far,  _ oh so delightfully far _ , from even the realm of subtlety. He found himself gulping to swallow, his mouth almost watering at the sight of smooth, familiar skin, Of angled and sharp curves, eased with the clinging wrap of coiled muscle.

Garrett’s breath was picking up, he could feel his heart begin to flutter in the spaces between beats. He had never pushed it this far. It was always so silly. Texting pictures, imaginary descriptions. It all felt like the stuff of tacky Harlequin romance. Neither of them had suggest it, both of them had ridiculed it...

_ Yet _ …

Hawke  
_Oh? And what of words?_

* * *

 

It had never gone this far. Garrett had never pushed their jest into actual, sexual territory. Nor had he ever considered it. How sleazy… yet delightfully vulgar. It was with nearly quivering hands that he tapped his next message across the screen. A warmth began to grow, swirling in his chest and, with each word weaving lower, settling in a pulsing pool  _ deep _ between his hips.

Fenris  
_There would be none. Only moans and senseless sounds as I wrapped my fingers around you. I want_  
_to feel you, Garrett, hot and hard in my hand. To sink my mouth onto your cock, smooth and heavy_  
_against my tongue. I want to taste you, feel you writhing beneath me. I want to make your body roll  
__with pleasure, suck and lick until your mind is consumed by it._

He pressed the send button as soon as he was done, watching the narrow blue line dash across the screen, a satisfying  _ swoop _ echoing around the suddenly quiet room. Traffic from outside, the rush of wind through his window, the creaking groan of the settling house all stilled with the tension of the moment. His body was buzzing, the air around him pulsed with anticipation, curiosity and the beginning curls of  _ excitement _ .

The text returned agonizingly long minutes later.

Hawke  
_Fuck, Fenris…_

Then, before he had time to reply,

Hawke  
_Fen I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad. I want to feel you inside of me, your fingers digging bruises_  
_Into my hips. I want to feel your lips on my neck, raising marks of their own. I want to hear the way  
__You chant my name as you thrust into me. I want to feel the way you fill me. I need you so bad…_

Only his cock had time to stir, pulling the heat from his gut, rising a swelling, tenting in his soft boxers before his finger was all but slamming against the tiny phone icon at the top of the text window.. Fenris’ breath hitched and he groaned aloud, one hand sliding down his body to rub against his growing erection. It’d been so long, too long. Endless days dragging on to weary weeks and exhausted months. He hadn’t realized it until then, hadn’t the desire to feel hands upon his body until Garrett painted such vivid pictures in his mind.

_ Lord above did he miss that man. _

* * *

Garrett didn’t think, his thumb struck desperately against the  _ accept _ button, pressing the phone tight against his ear.

“Ooooh god, fuck, Fenris.” Was all he could manage, flipping quickly onto his stomach, chest propped upon a pillow to allow more pressure on his hips which were grinding rhythmically into the bed. He’d been too busy to kick his own pants off but that didn’t matter now, the worn texture of the fabric offered delicious friction.

“ _ Keep talking _ ” Came the rough command, voice hoarse and strained with wanton desires and unrestrained lust. Garrett’s face burned with want and he dropped his face into his arms, which were crossed around the pillow.

“I miss you, Fen… I miss the way your mouth feels on me. The way it feels when you’re on top of me, knees squeezing against my sides as you  _ fuck yourself _ on me.” His hips thrust hard against the bed below and he gasped out a moan, driving his hardening cock against the soft surface. “I miss the way your dick feels inside of me, stretching me out. I love that  _ moan _ you have when you’re first pushing in, needing more, amazed at how my ass spread for you, pulls you in. I love that you try to control yourself, all tensed and shivering with  _ every. Fucking. Thrust _ . Most of all-” His breath caught at the image, the thought,  _ the memory _ .

He could feel the burning stretch of Fenris’ cock like it was there now and he cried out softly, eyes squeezed shut as his hips gyrated into the sheets, pick up pace with his desperation for release.

* * *

“ _ Most of all what, Hawke.”  _ It was rare that Fenris used his lover’s last name, the nickname and title he went by with everyone else. Where using his proper name pressed the man to shivers and helpless moans, the use of his surname brought him to attention, it was always a command.

Garrett’s voice was rolling into his ears like lava, burning in his mind and scorching a trail down his chest, settling low and pulsing,  _ throbbing _ between his hips. Nimble fingers had long ago quested under his boxers and were curled tight around his hard, hot cock. There was no teasing, no playful pleasure of stretching his foreskin down over the head, no lazy thrusting up into his hand. His grip was tight and his fist was a blur, whole arm tensed, sweat quickly beading along his body as his hand pumped fast and hard over his member.

“Most of all I love when you finally  _ lose it _ .” His lover finished, voice breathy and more panting than actual words, “I love when you throw me down and  _ fuuuuuuck me- _ ” his voice caught on the word in a long moan and Fenris could hear the rhythmic rustle of hips against blanket, which only served to spur him on.

“Don’t stop…  _ Garrett-”  _ He had meant to say something but his pleasure was mounting, his balls tightening against him and his penis hardening in his hand. He could feel the rushing build of his orgasm rising and he moaned loudly, “ _ Garrett, please… _ ”

* * *

Fenris had never  _ begged _ . No matter how much Garrett had teased or taunted he had never relented into begging. The sudden plea sent a hard shock down his body and he groaned openly, brow furrowing, arms tensing and flexing around the pillow, abdomen curling and rolling with his hips to provide more stimulation. Desire and need coursed through his veins in a heady mixture that swirled pleasure across every nerve and synapse. He could  _ feel _ Fenris’ touch against his skin, his hot breath burning across his neck, his lips and teeth sharp but soothing across his nipples.

“Feeling your hips snap against me, driving my whole-” he gasped, “my  _ whole body _ across the bed.” He could feel the tightening coil of his climax growing in his gut and his thrusts lost their pattern, blindly, desperately, grinding themselves against the bed. “I wanna feel you come in me…  _ fuck, Fen, fill me up… _ ” It was a final, untethered cry as pleasure washed over him, burning flames consumed him, body riding out the orgasm in unsteady, craving thrusts, “Aaah- ah- ah… F-- Fenris… Fuck…”

* * *

 

His peak pulsed from him in hot, blinding waves. His head thrown back, gasps and cries thoughtlessly loud as seed pumped from his cock, pouring across his hand. His hips thrust up now, riding out the pleasure while his arm stiffened, shaking with the force of the sensations sparking and shooting across his entire body.

When finally his back eased, dropping from it’s sharp arc back to the bed, his breaths evening into ragged normality, his mind whirring and blinking back to life, he lifted the forgotten phone to his ear once more.

“Garrett?”

* * *

A muffled groan was all he could manage for reply. The pair hung in tired, pleasured silence for several long minutes before Garrett regained himself enough to speak, lips tugged into a knowing, smug and satisfied smirk.

“I win.”


	5. Josephine/Isabela (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All credit goes to okheshivar (http://okheshivar.tumblr.com/), who’s wonderful picture inspired not only this fic but this ship. Like seriously, hot damn. How have I missed this? And how do I find more? Endless gratitude and thanks to okheshivar for this amazing picture and ship. Seriously, I have four FenHawke fics to finish and instead I’m writing this trash.
> 
> The setting is inspired by Devil’s Dance Floor by Flogging Molly. Every time I hear it I can’t help but picture Isabela. I love that lady so much.
> 
> ALSO- I have no idea about the story/timelines of these two characters so just… lets not get caught up on it, okay?
> 
> ALSO ALSO- I’ve never really written women before (apart from in scenes with the DA 2 gang) so please… be kind?

 

                                                                       

 

The dance. In little over two minutes trysts were planned, alliances crumbled, intrigue whispered and status shifted. It was a dance, yes, but it was so much grander than that. One small piece in the churning, quiet uproar that festered openly deep in the heart of Orlais.

She was learning, still yet untrained in the ways of The Game. But she was quiet, with all the subtlety of a whispered kiss in darkened halls. Despite the violet gown, trimmed in gold and paired with pearls she remained unnoticed at the back of the hall. She wore a half mask, flirting with the idea of anonimity but bold in it’s reveal of the young face below.

Josephine had arrived in Orlais as an eager and quick-witted fourteen-year-old, too nosy for her own good and with an ear for hushed secrets echoing from stone alleys. She had stayed for three years now, to learn the spinning weave, dip and sway of Orlesian culture and, two years later, felt no more attuned than she had when she’d arrived. She was yet timid, toes tickling the water but heart pounding with the fear of chill.

She was mask in a sea of faces. Everyone knew every one else, the masks were a technicality, a delicacy of lace and silver that emboldened but did not hide. Her dark eyes sparkled with the flickering light of candle off crystal. Even still they were wide, lips parted in heavy breath with the weight of the evening. Every partner chosen, so careless and easy, every step and slide of couple around the floor, effortless and light- stirred and roiled with rival and purpose.

A smile cast to a dark stranger as a lady was swooped into a dip. An accidental caress, a slip of the tongue. There were no mistakes, no messages sent that one did not intend for all to see. A city of screaming secrets and whispered affairs. And there she stood, body bowed forward, hands clasped tight, eyes alight with the excitement of it all. A dance with tongues as sharp as daggers and lips fast as an arrow. A battle of enchanted smiles and shielded side-ways glances.

She flinched, body tight as a piano wire, when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder. The light sigh of air rushed from fluffed satin brushed across her face, disturbing the loose strands of midnight hair that dared challenge the careful construct of appearance and perfection of the Orlesian Empire.

The eyes that met hers when she turned were dark and wild, pools of dark oak, the glittering hints of hold hovering within. Her face was bare and bold, weathered by sun and wind, no more than ten years her senior but knowing, a calm oasis amidst the tossing waves salty wind-swept hair. She smelled of sun over ocean, the tang of coming electric storms sweeping in her breath. Josephine found her heart stuttering beneath the laced corset, suddenly just this side of too tight.

Her lungs staggered for air at the other woman’s smile, teeth white and flashing against rich gold rum skin. The corners of her eyes crinkled, falling into knowing lines that had yet to take hold deep in the skin. Her faces was made of stories, Josephine imagined. The crooked quirk of her lip, the flared set of her nose, the squinting challenge of one eye, the arched brow of the other. Her face grew hot under the scrutiny of this stranger, but she could not pull her gaze away.

When she did it was the other’s clothing that dragged her eyes away. It was ostentatious, even for an Orlesian affair. Especially for an Orlesian affair.

She wore a black leather half-coat with brass buttons and a high collar that folded down on itself, mirrored by the white linen shirt she wore beneath. A simple shirt with lacing up the front that stole Josephine’s thoughts and smeared her face red at the bold display of soft, raised cleavage. The push and press of the crimson waist corset certainly assisting the display.

Face aflame with embarrassement she dropped her eyes from the sight, admiring the fine make of the faded leather belts looped long and lazy across her hips, each draped with swathes of excess fabric from her white linen skirts and crimson petticoats. Her gown was hiked up higher on one side, allowing for brilliant flashes of more of that smooth, rich skin as it slid up her lean calf to a well-muscled thigh, her legs rising up, up, _up._ Endless in the teen’s eyes.

When finally Josephine gathered her wits and rose her sights to meet the stranger’s once more a coying smile was toying at the corner of those full, pale lips. She swallowed and, finally remembering her manners, offered a slight curtsy, fluid and rolling with grace and elegance. “Lady Josephine Montilyet.” Her lilting voice poured out, almost an instinct.

The other’s laughter sent goosebumps rippling along her flesh and a skittering excitement quivering down her spine. She mocked the gesture, lips curling higher as she offered, “Captain Isabela of the Siren’s Call.” Her accent- Rivaini. Her title- a merchant? No, not with that outfit-  _a pirate_? The questions began to simmer at the back of her mind, their hot insistence creeping at the back of her tongue.

Too curious. Too forward. Too bold for The Game, though her observations had gotten her far. The dark, work calloused hand slid down her arm to wrap, _oh so warm_ , around her own. “A dance, then, m’lady.” Josephine stumbled, she knew, but she felt as though she were floating as Isabela sauntered them to the dance floor. Her own heels clicked light and brisk against the hard marble flooring, Isabela’s boots echoed in quiet, leaden thumps.

The pirate, _she must be a pirate_ , clasped their hands tight and drew Josephine to her, her free arm coiling around her to press firmly into her lower back. Her mind reeled at the press of her soft, _strong_  body, at the glinting mystery and promise buried deep in those tantalizing eyes, at the ever coy teasing in every line, _every lovely line_ , in her weather-worn face.

When the dance picked up it was brisk and exciting and Isabela lead it with insistence and confidence, her eyes flashing and never once leaving Josephine’s. She was a good lead and, though having never danced this song before, Josephine found the steps and motions easily under Isabela’s guiding touch. Her skin flushed wherever their bodies touched and she could practically see her heart thumping desperately within it’s bony cage.

Josephine twirled out then spun back in, her own arm and Isabela’s curling around her waist, coming to rest with her back pressed against the other female’s front. They remained for a long moment, swaying to a sudden lull in the instrumentation. Hot breath tickled across her ear and cheek, accented voice purring into her mind, “ _So you’re the little bird curious about the edges of the map, hm_?”

In an instant her heart fluttered to a stop, just in time to be pushed away and twirled back, front to front, to resume the dance. Her whole face must be scarlet, now, to match the coloring of her partner’s waist sinch. “I… Well…” Breath was difficult to come by and words were scattered by the smell of distant ocean breeze and uncharted tides. “ _Yes.”_ She finally squeaked, lashes fluttering in eager anticipation.

The song ended, the swaying swirl of dancers ceased and a polite applause picked up for the band. Josephine followed on instinct, to the smirking delight of Isabela. Before she had time to turn and fully face her again she caught her arm, their faces inches apart, Isabela pressed against her arm, her head turned to watch the simple, honest pull and curve of her lips.

“Fly, little bird. Your cage now is not so small. And I’ll find you when the world is ready.”

Their lips brushed, Isabela’s drier and leaving the lingering taste of rushing air and ploughing ocean. Not a proper kiss, but a promise, sealed with a wink. And suddenly she was gone, swept into the auditious and flamboyant smear of silk and satin, color and whimsy.

Her own fingers, soft and nimble from easy days behind a desk and meandering cool, breezy streets, tapped at her lips, soft and moist, quaking and unsure in the wake of that secret temptation. A proper secret, even here, especially here. It squeezed in her chest and scattered her thoughts to the setting sun.

_I’ll find you when the world is ready._

She could not wait.


	6. Fenris/M!Hawke (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are more photos by Drisrt, who continues to get credit for insiration and story. I didn't create the AU, I'm just writing it.
> 
> If this gets popular enough then I'll pull it out of here and either make a longfic or a series of other short fics for this universe. Please just let me know (carefulmimicry on Tumblr) what you'd like to see and it shall be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have an unhealthy obsession with all things Drisrt does. I’d say it’s true love but it’s probably just creeper stalking…. MORE THINGS I SHOULDN’T BE WRITING. All credit for the art and inspiration go to Drisrt, I merely put it into words. Into too many words. Also, it takes a while but I promise you it gets NSFW eventually.
> 
> So I saw people asking about purple!hawke and saying new headcannons for this AU and I’m just going to apologize now- this fic is none of that. If this is popular, and I have permission from Drisrt, I’d be willing to write a series of stories from this AU where we’ll get to explore “hawke’s” personality better and really get to some of the things y’all want. But right now I just thought I’d play out how Persephone came to love Hades. ‘Cause Angsty Smut fluff is my favorite.
> 
> Persephone is a lady so I’m saying his name is Persephon… Deal with it?
> 
> Also I don’t think they said fuck in ancient Greek but… oh well?

 

He could almost say he lived on Earth. Almost. And in the budding months filled with the sparkle of melting snow and the flowers, given life by his breath, the birds, given song from his heart and the sun, given light by his every waking thought, he really did. Eight long months he was allowed to stay. Eight long months the world grew and blossomed around him in marvelous color.

Then six, then four and then two. Just two small months left. And in his sorrow, in his knowledge of the coming loss the world would begin to wither. He did not fight it. He crowed when the flowers began to wilt, when the leaves ground into mud beneath his feet, when the sun lost minutes, then hours, in the sky. The stars themselves would shift, would change their patterns and stories, would morn his loss with their every life.

It was a viscous arithmetic and Persephon always forgot the rules. The first day of the last month of Autumn he would feel a presence near. He would see the shadows rising to claim him. And the world would be gone. Swallowed by stone dark.

He had hated Hades. Had cursed the god for his selfish and cruel ways. He couldn’t count in endless twilight. He couldn’t track Helios and his waking sun in the golden sky. Time was meaningless and only the dual promise and curse that bound him knew when spring had arrived. Day and night dragged endlessly on, swirling in a violent and endless daze.

For years he hated that place. For years he hated his captor. For years he slept in shadow and gloom, waking only to pick at the very edges of the finest food Hades could conjure. Only enough to keep him alive- and only so that he would live to greet the spring again.

The change was not sudden. The shift a subtle edge on a too-sharp knife.

It started with a look. When he could not face the fading of the world around him and had turned to greet the hungry dark. He had seen Hades’ face, unshrouded, for the first time. The sun illuminated the dark visage and in his eyes, those inky eyes so black they could hold the pits of the underworld itself. But in them, in those tumultuous depths, he had seen a joy. His face was pressed into hard lines, but he could see relief in the strain of his lips, ardor in the arch of his brow.

He had thought nothing of it. The gods played games with mortals and Hades, who so seldom won, had finally gotten what he wanted. The joy was satisfied victory in his dark eyes. The relief a smug twist of lips. Ardor the proud hope of claiming Persephon once more as his own.

Persephon had pushed it all away, had denied any emotions Hades could feel. He was nothing to the god, nothing but a toy or a play thing. But deep in his mind the thought lingered, the image lurked and an idea began to grow, a weed, roots tangled in his brain stem.

And so he began to look.

Every so often, in the eerie glow that seemed to hum from nothing more than the air around them he would catch a glance at his face. Often Hades was not watching at all, too absorbed in the business of death or the politics of the other gods. He did not notice his mortal’s drifting gaze, his studious glance.

His face was etched with black markings, creeping from his neck and sinking deep with jagged edges and rooted thorns. They felt alive, thrumming within his skin and seeming to swirl and pulse. They were things of shadow and death that would writhe and shift, only to settle when watched straight-on. They disgusted Persephon at first. Turned his stomach in revolt, pulled bile onto his tongue and ground his teeth in itching agitation.

Hades wasn’t always in sour mood. Wasn’t always roiled with the never-ending games and schemes of the other gods, who thought him so much the lesser. And when he wasn’t, when his long and nimble fingers clasped the dry leather and parchment of one great mortal epic or another, the scratching lines of jagged ink smoothed across his skin. They eased into gentle place, no longer carving and clawing with desperate agitation. In those moments Persephon allowed his gaze to linger and trace the lazy swirls and careless arcs.

He noted the slightest flash of summer green hugging the pupils of Hades’ eyes. He began to admire the quirk that drew to Hades’ lips, the only flash of happiness he allowed himself to show, whenever Persephon ate more than mere nibbles of the decadent food offered. The almost embarrassed shuffle of hood and shadow whenever he caught Persephon staring.

The more he watched the more Hades’ took notice. Their eyes would meet for fleeting seconds before snapping away, each creeping about the underworld palace like ships passing in the night.

For years they circled, daring ever closer, watching ever longer, but still words were not shared. The silence of the underworld was crushing and oppressive. Persephon felt he could not conjure the strength to break it, even should he try. Upon every return from summer’s end he would feel realm of the dead press on his lungs, rush all air from them, chase every thought of speech from his mind. This land so different from that of which he was made and which sang to him.

It was one night (at least he supposed it was night, for they made their own hours), after years beyond counting, as Persephon leaned over a balcony to watch the river Styx below, to watch the souls pass from boat to land, lost now forever- that Hades spoke for the first time. Of course he had said things when they first met, commands to eat or follow, clipped, one word phrases that stabbed at him and wheedled between his ribs to rip at his very soul. But this time that low, rumbling voice echoed in question.

“Why do you watch me?”

Persephon wasn’t sure how to answer, he didn’t rightfully know why… He’d just started. He’d seen something and so he’d watched. He answered with a shrug, not bothering to turn to look at the god behind him.

“You despise me.”

At one time he would have agreed without hesitation. Once he would have sneered and snarled. But no longer. He simply shrugged again.

“I let you go free… Two thirds of every year.”

Rage bubbled up inside of him, an anger he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It wasn’t freedom if he was forced to return, was it? It wasn’t freedom if it was allowed, was it? He had no kind of freedom and for Hades to think it was a gift-

“I should let you go.”

His body stilled and his head cocked to one side, eyes still on the landscape below, but one ear pointed to catch the quiet words.

“But I can’t.” There was a threatening growl in the words and Persephon tensed, just slightly, though no threat had ever been made against him. The sound of book hitting stone floor rang in painful reverberations around the domed room. “Your beauty was- is…” Frustrated steps lead Hades to the door, “more than mortal.”

He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean but the door closed with a decisive thud behind Hades and Persephon wasn’t entirely confident he had the courage to follow and press further question. Nothing else was spoken before his next departure.

Months after his return, Persephon broke his own silence, “Explain.” He more commanded than asked, leaning in the shadows between two towering shelves of books in Hade’s library.

The god did not look up from his studies for several long moments, though his fingers tapped haltingly on the page, the visual tick of his mental whirring, “You.. are the sunlight.” He finally answered, dark eyes drifting lazily to meet Persephon’s. He snorted and rolled his own eyes, wanting to storm from the library, to turn his back on Hades and walk right back down to whatever fork in the road started them talking and take the other route.

But his derision faltered when he saw that flash of green once more. Bolder this time, trapped between the black of pupil and iris. Hades’ expression remained stoic, white hair dropping before his eyes as his head tilted down once more. the jagged shards of an onyx crown pointing daggers towards Persephon as Hades’ head tipped forward to continue in his reading.

When the weight of Persephon’s gaze did not leave, Hades’ looked up once more, a hint of confusion in his expression now. He was clearly unused to him sticking around, never mind engaging in conversation, or leaving him in a demanding silence that cried out for better answers.

“You are the beauty of life.”

The words rushed out on a gust of a breath before Hades was standing swiftly, snapping his literature closed and sweeping from the library through the closest door that did not require moving past Persephon. The silence fell again for the few long months left of his imprisonment.

The next time he returned, Persephon brought with him a flower. The last of the summer’s Aconite. The purple was blinding and brilliant against the palace of the underworld, but when it’s stem left his fingertips as he placed it into a vase on the dining table, the color leched from it and it’s petals withered and drooped, tumbling in a swirling rush, grey ash upon a grey wood table. Hades watched with a wordless stare as heavy as the invisible iron shackles that tied Persephon to that place.

He met Hades’ stare with a challenge of his own, eyes an accusation, as if the god had wilted the flower on purpose, of his own will. Mostly black eyes dropped to the floor, considering before his voice rolled out, deep and smooth, “You are the only life in this place.” He paused, eyes studying Persephon’s face, his gaze pulled a blush to his cheeks, his own eyes flickering away uncertainly. “You are Ilios.” He left the room and familiar, frigid silence fell again.

They withered. They always withered, unless held in his hand. Each time the frustration mounted, he became more determined to succeed, to find some kind of hope, joy or life in that gods forsaken land. Each time Hades would watch, from shadows or doorways, unmoved by the meaningless and endless monotony of failure. And each time he would recite that simple phrase, You are Ilios.

You are the sun.

After too many years of foolish hope and stubborn will his hand faltered at a new question, “Why always those?”

Persephon looked to the flower in his hand, the same as every year, Aconite. He had never thought of it’s meaning before. It had always been his favorite, for as long as he could remember. But as he considered the purple petals, gently curved in elegant curls, the flower began to feel like lead in his hand, “Blossomed from the spit of Cerberus when he was taken by Hercules.”

Hades snarled low in his chest, a sound of irritation more than anger, one thin hand raised to press against his left shoulder absently, “How fitting.” He ground out between clenched teeth, hand dropping back to his side in a fist, frustration at his own lack of control flashing across his face. He turned, the doors flying open before him and slamming closed once he was through.

The next year he did not bother with the vase, cautious steps instead carrying him towards Hades instead. Hades eyed him warily as he approached, closer than they’d ever been, half an arm’s length apart. “Life springs even from the monsters of death.” He murmured, soft, with a sense of almost pleading as he extended the flower to Hades.

There was hesitation in the god’s gaze but he reached out none-the-less, grasping the stem with a careful pinch of thumb and forefinger. Persephon released his hold slowly, both pairs of eyes watching the flower between them.

It’s color dimmed, purple drifting into a the nondescript grey that seemed to encompass the entirety of the underworld. The stem curled, dry and wrinkling, at the end and it’s color faded as well. But it was alive.

Hades withheld expression and pressed the flower back into Persephon’s hand, both watching as it sprung back into beautiful, glorious life. He huffed softly, words gentle, a strange kind of ghost smile crossing his lips, “Ilios.”

When next he returned he bore a woven crown of Aconites, a second laying gingerly across his palms. The skepticism in Hades’ stare was nearly a force to fight against in approaching him. Persephon managed though and, with a goofy quirk of lips, placed the flower wreath in a weaving pattern around Hades’ crown. The flowers dimmed, as expected, the stems and petals curling in semi-death. But they remained and Hades’ did not immediately tear them away and so Persephon was pleased.

As the weeks whittled by the flowers did eventually wither and tears of petals trailed behind Hades’ as he walked. Though, if he noticed, he paid no mind. When his crown had broken and tumbled in inevitable death Persephon had approached again, kneeling beside him on his usual bench in the library and oh so carefully placed his own wreath, still vibrant with life and color, over where the old one had lain. Hades’ had stared at him, not unpleasantly, for several long minutes before turning his attention back into his book, paying Persephon no more mind.

It became a ritual. A gift of life for the harbinger of death. Hades chose never to comment about it but he also had never protested. Upon one winter’s return, as Persephon wove the flowers through his broken and jagged crown his hand was caught and drawn away from the task.

The pause between them was long, Hades’ eyes locked onto his, their joined hands hovering uncertainly between them. Finally, with smooth albeit slow, movements the god brought Persephon’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a cool and whispering kiss to the warm skin. He allowed the hand to fall and then, as always, took his swift and decisive leave.

Persephon pulled his hand close, the feel of the chilled kiss sinking deep into warm, living flesh.

When time came to change his flower crown Persephon did so with his usual care and grace, Hades not sparing him a second glance, either too engrossed in his reading, or else not wanting to acknowledge their previous encounter. When he had finished Persephon shifted from his knees to sitting fully on the bench, beside Hades. He slid until their shoulders bumped. A ripple of alert and tension rolled suddenly through Hades’ body, though he did not flinch away.

With slow, delicate movements Persephon allowed his head to tip onto his shoulder, the cool rush from his skin palpable through layers of clothing. He felt as thoug he should be shivering, should be frigid, should be quaking with the need for sun and warmth. But the chill wasn’t of coming winter winds and sudden spring storms. It was more a lack of heat. And as he rested he felt the points of contact begin to warm under his touch. Goosebumps rolled over Hades’ flesh and his hands quivered against the pages of the book. Silence and stillness poured from minutes into hours before Persephon finally inched away, small and unsure and making his way quickly from the library.

So more years rolled by with simple touches and glancing brushes of lips against skin. A hand, palm, or wrist, never anything more. Never so bold.

At some point Hades stopped reading in the library, preferring the open air tickling across him from the balcony in a tower room. Persephon was sure the move was deliberate and purposeful. He wanted peace, he wanted solitude. Persephon was not a friend or lover, he was a trophy, a showering of life for Hades to lord over. Such thoughts were set to constant swirl in his mind and thus he had avoided the change of local. It was too close, too personal, too intimate.

It was mere days before his next return to Earth, he dared to venture in. It had been two years since last he sat with Hades as he read and a small piece of him, tucked deep under rib and muscle, ached for the small contact. Hades did look up, suspicion in his eyes, now spiked with vibrant green, lancing through the black abyss.

If he had come up here to be alone he would have said so, would have gave him a look that told him to leave, would have put up a presence that demanded solitude. But he didn’t, just watched him, tracked his motions with ambivalent care. Persephon sank onto the plush chaise beside him, swallowing his doubts before reaching out, pressing up on one lean bicep, corded with tight and unyielding muscle. His fingers twitched, itched to dig in, a shiver coursed up his spine and rocketed outward in a ripple of bumps along his arms and neck.

Hades allowed his arms to be pressed upwards, lifting the book from his lap, his limbs mostly over his head. Persephon slid under the cradle of one of those arms, head turned so that the side of his face pressed against the soft gap of bone at the front of Hades’ shoulder. His arms did not drop for long, agonizing minutes and Persephon stiffened, mentally preparing his retreat. But they did descend, settling comfortably around him, draped across his shoulders in an easy almost embrace.

His next return was tense and quiet and when Hades took his hand it remained trapped between them in indecision. He drew Persephon’s hand towards him then pulled it further, dropping it it over his shoulder, and thus guiding Persephon against him.

Their chests were brushing with each breath, lips parted from the stuttering inhales. Persephon leaned in first, closing half the distance, eyes heavily lidded, flickering quickly between Hades’ lips and his eyes. Hades hesitated when he dipped forward, their breaths mingling, the head rolling from the warmth washing over him. After a few delicious moments their lips met in tender, soft uncertainty.

There was no slant or slip of tongue, no slide of flesh on flesh, just an innocent pressing of curious embrace. Hades pulled away first, breath coming in short and fast, steps just as quick in moving him away from Persephon.

One kiss. That was what they were allowed. Whether on hand, wrist or lips there was always ever just one kiss. Upon his return each winter. They had gotten bolder, more direct. Now Persephon would allow one hand to cup against Hades’ neck, holding himself steady despite the heady rush of chill and delicious contact. Hades’ cool fingers sunk deep into Persephon’s thick hair, guiding their mouths together with confident ease. But still their lips did not move beyond soft twitch or slip. And still their tongues did not explore.

Towards the end of his stay in the Underworld, Persephon made his way to the tower room. A small flash of surprise jerked through Hades’ eyes, rising the bares smile to Persephon’s lips. No matter how many times he had come here, no matter how often they had sat together, Hades always seemed shocked to see him, that he might not only want, but seek out his company.

This time, when he raised his arms to allow Persephon close- he dropped lower still, allowing his head to rest on Hades’ lap, facing up, eyes studying the subtle and controlled expression. A small smile lurked at the corners of his lips and Persephon could not help himself. The expression was open and fresh, lines around Hades’ eyes falling into easy place, as if this weren’t new. As if, at one point, he had known much of happiness and joy, but had long since forgotten such things.  


He reached up, one hand hovering haltingly before Hades’ lips, fingers twitching, tapping in the air, eager to press against those soft lips and trace the sweeping curve that had settled upon them. He wanted so badly to know what that smile would feel like against his skin, against his lips but he could not bring himself to close the distance.

Hades instead leaned forward, pressing his lips to extended fingers, sweeping his cool, damp mouth against farm-calloused digits. Not kissing, just stroking, as Persephon might have, had he the will to move his hand of his own accord. Hades’ smile grew against Persephon’s fingertips as he curled them, pressing into the soft give of his full lips.

Hades placed the book carefully beside them, hands now free to grasp Persephon’s. Chilled fingers kneaded carefully at the tight ligaments of overworked hands. Strong and skilled fingers churned out the knots, bowed Persephon’s fingers back to stretch the curving tendons and pulling muscle. The ice of his skin seemed to drip slowly into the sinew and flesh, soothing ache and easing tension.

Persephon groaned quietly, his neck giving way to allow his head to drop fully back into Hades’ lap. His hands, curled and crooked from the constant work of garden and farm began to relax. The ache of grinding bone and unyielding muscle soothed beneath skillful fingers. His breath caught in a gasp and rushed out in a soft moan when a particularly snagging knot came loose under Hades’ touch. His eyes had long ago slid closed, and when he opened them again Hades’ face was soft and warm, hands gentle as the eased Persephon’s to rest by his side.

With plain and purposeful motions Hades lifted his other hand and began to repeat the same. It was shameful how good it felt, how much pleasure seeped through Persephon’s body, tingling at his skin, fuzzing the edges of his vision. His toes curled tight and his breath was escaping in ragged drags. He’d hoped for comfort from the ministrations, not a quickly heating pool settling low between his hips and to feel his cock grow heavier with each drag and slide of long, impossibly smooth, sinfully nimble fingers.

“Mmmmm…” He allowed a small sound to trail from his throat, chest swelling with an attempted calming breath. Hades chuckled above him, which sent a burning, rolling shiver up his spine. With exact and careful motions Hades set his other hand down, satisfied that he’d completed his task with thorough care.

After one last, lingering look Hades lifted his book again and Persephon curled onto his side, face nestled into the soft. black fabric of Hades’ clothes, forehead rested gently against lean, tight abs. Endless time drifted by, Persephon fading in and out of sleep and finally curling his arms around Hades’ waist and allowing himself to drift off to the careful comfort of combing fingers through his hair.

Persephon almost did not want to leave when springtime rolled around. Almost.

When he returned he was absent flowers, which seemed inconsequential compared to the absence of Hades in the grand hall to greet him. Nor was he waiting in the dining room or library. He wasn’t in the tower room and he wasn’t in the many other rooms of alchemy and magic. He should feel hurt, he supposed. He should feel lonely or betrayed at being abandoned after so much trouble and fuss was put into getting him there.  
But mostly he was tired from the long journey from Earth to Underworld. He curled up on a cushioned bench in the library, comforted by the smell of bound leather and parchment. Exhaustion overtook him immediately, sweeping him into grateful slumber.

He awoke bleary eyed and disoriented several hours later, warm and more comfortable than when he’d passed out. With slow and delicate motions he twisted to peer around the room. A blanket was draped over his body and a pillow had been slipped beneath his head, which offered some explanation. Nothing else had changed so, being now well rested, he decided to explore the castle once more.  


He found Hades at last in the tower room, though he wasn’t reading this time. He had a scroll laid out across his lap and was tapping a quill against his chin, eyes glazed over in thought.

“Where were you?” He hadn’t intended to speak. It was none of his business and more than that his voice still sounded too loud, the air too full when he did.

“My apologies.” Hades offered, moving the scroll and quill to a small table beside the chaise. “There was some minor business to attend.” He paused, tongue working to find the words for the emotion flashing in his green- so green- eyes. “I am sorry I missed you.”

His next breath caught in his throat and Persephon stepped forward, eyes locked on Hades’, trapped by emerald depths, their shifting hues in the unearthly light around them. “So you missed me?” He finally queered, purposefully misrepresenting Hades’ words.

He must have noticed shift of meaning, though apparently chose not to care, “Every day, Ilios.” In his words melted the innocent desire and desperate truth of a man who has too long confined such emotions.

Persephon closed the distance between them, Hades rising to meet him, their lips crushing together, hands grasping for contact. Persephon whimpered against Hade’s mouth, stirring a growl deep in his chest, his hands pulling them closer together. Their lips slanted and, with aching gasps, parted against each other.

He wanted Hades’ hands everywhere, wanted to feel his touch sliding along his back, sinking between his thighs, pressing deep into him. Hades’ arms coiled around Persephon, holding their bodies tight, his tongue teasing in light flicks along his lower lip. His lips parted to accept the intrusion, slick tongues sliding together, muffling soft moans.

Hades sank back onto the chaise, hands smoothed down Persephon’s sides, settling on his hips, tugging him forward with gentle insistence, “Come here… I need you _here_.” Hades’ knees knocked Persephon’s legs apart and he sank onto his lap, hands grasping for his shoulders, neck, arms, clothing, anything, anything to get him closer. “Kiss me.”

Persephon obliged, tipping his head down and surging forward to seal their lips together again. The kiss hot and demanding, unrelenting in its passion. Persephon’s hands curled into Hades’ hair. Rough fingers dragged in a halting, scraping slide down his neck, seeking out the markings that coiled around Hades’ neck. He found them and pressed against them, shivering at their icy chill.

Hades’ own hands were far from idle and after a moment Persephon’ belt fell away, the tunic he wore swung free to drape loosely over his body. He pulled back, breath harsh as Hades snatched his hands away from the markings.

“Tell me to stop,” He rasped, their hands clenched tight between their bodies. His eyes, now mostly the fresh and wild green of early spring leaves, burned with an icy desire. Persephon could feel Hades’ body coiled and rigid, muscles trembling with the need to do something.

“ _No_.” His voice was low and firm. He knew what he wanted, his body burned with desire and arousal.

“Then tell me what you want.” Both of their wills were crumbling, this was the last out for either of them and Persephon smirked, head rushing with the sudden power he held.

“Don’t stop…” He paused, licking swollen and bruised lips, curled into a devilish smile, “I want to touch you, I want to feel you-” his words faltered when Hades’ lips sealed over the pulse point in his neck, all that tight control unraveling in looping spools. “I want to feel you inside of me-” Teeth sank into tender flesh, his tongue darting out to tease the trapped skin. Persephon grunted low in his throat, determined to finish, “I want you to _take me_.” He tilted his head back to allow Hades easier access to the stubbled expanse of his chin and neck.

Hades’ hands splayed against Persephon’s chest as he arched forward into them, “Show me where you want me to touch,” Hades voice was all gavel and arousal. Persephon drew his tounge slowly across his lips, hands pressing over Hades’. He slid them around to the back of his neck, sighing as Hades pressed his fingers in deep, massaging the coiled knots and soothing the tension, “ _Mmmm_ , yeah…” He let out a heavy breath, head dropping forward.

“Maybe I should give you a proper massage sometime? You’re so tense, I could help with that.”

A smile drew across Persephon’s lips and he looked up to meed Hades’ eyes, “Oh, definitely, especially _here_.” He pushed his hands lower until they were resting over the small of his back. Hades’ breath hitched but he massaged, fingers occasionally drifting to knead and squeeze at Persephon’s ass. “Yes, lots of tension here… I will have to-” one finger pressed as far between Persephon’s cheeks as the rough fabric of his tunic would allow, “work that out.”

Persephon moaned quietly at the thought, moving Hades’ hands around to his thighs, guiding them in ever lengthening strokes. Hades groaned at the scraping feel of hair over smooth flesh, hands moving of their own accord as Persephon’s fell away, and he pressed higher, thick muscle clenched tight under his hands. His hips rode up against Persephon’s and, for the first time, he realized how _large_  the man was.

Hades took a moment to appraise Persephon’s body, noting the bulk of muscle, broad shoulders and barreled chest. His patience was waning and finally he pulled his hands away, drawing Persephon’s body against his own, “I want you.” He rasped, pressing insistent kisses up his neck, over his bearded jaw and to his lips. “I want to take you, I want to watch you ride my cock, fuck yourself on me.” His hips stuttered up violently at the thought. “I want to wrap my hand around you, feel you hot and hard for me.” Hades’ hips continued to roll, grinding against him as the visions flashed in his mind, “I want to make you come, and I want to hold your hips and fuck up into you once you do and fill you with my cum.”

Persephon’s body pressed back against Hades, his voice ragged and hoarse in its reply, “Fucking _take me_ , then. I want to feel you, I want to ride you until you’re crying out my name _.”_ He smirked, lips pressing against Hades’ as he spoke, “I will make you call out for me, make you wish I would flip you over and _fuck you_.”

Hades’ moaned at the thought, Persephon could overpower him so easily. Could shove his hands away, pin him down and do as he wished. Hades could feel the strength coursing through every line of Persephon’s body. He’d let Persephon take him one day. Just not now. Hades body ached to feel the stretching burn of his cock filling him, longed to feel the slapping thrust of Persephon’s hips against his ass. The image flooded his mind and he muffled a soft cry at the thoughts.

Hades jerked back, tugging at Persephon’s tunic until he raised his arms to allow its removal. The moment it was gone Hades’ lips sealed around one taunt nipple. Persephon’s breath hitched and he groaned, chest pressing into Hades’ mouth. His tongue flicked across the rigid flesh, teeth scraping ever so gently, strangled moans and muffled cries from Persephon. With one particularly firm swipe of tongue Persephone canted his hips up, grinding his hardened cock against whatever piece of Hades’ body was closest.

Hades stank his teeth down over Persephon’s abused nipple and Persephon gasped, “H-Hades!” Back bowing, hands clenching tight against Hades’ shoulders. Hearing his name sent an electric jolt through Hades’ body and he groaned against Persephon’s skin, fighting his savage desire to push the other over and fuck him. To bite and rut and take and use. His lips parted in harsh pants and his hands pushed Persephon back before moving the ties that held his tunic together.

Persephon took the opportunity to tear at the ties of his loin cloth, freeing himself from it and tossing it aside.

Hades began to strip away his own dark robes. Nimble fingers unfastening the ties that held the drapes and swatch of black and grey fabric in place. As he did so Persephon’s lips burned a path across his icy flesh, wherever it was revealed.. It was a delicious sensation that he sank into willingly, bowing his body forward, inviting further, heated exploration. “Mmmm, yes.” He groaned, “Fuck your mouth feels incredible.”

“I wish it to feel even better _somewhere else.”_

Hades moaned wantonly, clothes, he was wearing too much clothing. His hands fumbled at the clasps once more, tugging the fabric from him with haphazard abandon. Persephon’s large hands soon joined his own and together they made quick work of the final remnants of cloth that covered him.

It was then, naked except for the small fabric straining with the evidence of his desire, that he got to appreciate just _how big_  Persephon was, his body coiled with raw power and brutality. Hades moaned openly, head dropping onto the back of the chaise, mind flooded with sin and lustful visions.

Persephon groaned in appreciation, “That is just… so much better.” He bent forward mouth scorching a trail along Hades’ chest, wasting no time in dropping lower still, body sliding from the chair to kneel between Hades’ legs. Hades dared open his eyes to watch Persephon press nipping kisses up the insides of this smooth thighs. 

“Oh, _fuck…”_ It came out as a growl at the sight of his legs stretched _wide_  around Persephon’s bulking body. His own was so lean, strong but corded, hidden, everything narrow and sharp angles. He gasped at a particularly sharp bite, heart thundering in his chest, body tense and arched. 

“Take it off,” He groaned, mouthing the hot, hard flesh through the thin cloth, “Or I’ll just suck you off like this.” Hades moaned softly at the threat, half tempted to take him up on it. After a minute of long laps, the cloth soaking through with spit and precome, Hades’ caved, ripping the final remaining clothing from his body.

“I…” Hades’ words faltered, his breath hitching as Persephon laved his tongue in broad stripes over his exposed cock, “Oh, _fuck_ , I want to fuck your mouth.”

Persephon smirked, mirth twinkling in darkened blue eyes, “How could I refuse a request like that?”

Hades’ hands reached down; one to grip himself in a firm fist, the other burrying in Persephon’s thick, dark hair. He watched intently, carefully dragging the leaking head of his cock along Persephon’s parted lips. His tongue darted out to collect the trail of moisture left along his mouth.

“ _Mmmmmmm- fuuuck,”_ He groaned out, “Do you like that?”

Persephon’s smile was coy, breath labored, “Do I love the taste of you on my tongue? The feel of you on my lips, hot and hard, already leaking?” He pushed a moan up from his chest, “Fuck, yes.”

Hades groweled, hands clenching sporadically, spamming against his cock and Persephon’s hair,  _“_ Open your mouth.”

Persephon followed order with a sly smirk, lips parting wide, stretching as far as he could press them to. Hades groaned helplessly at the sight pressing his hips up desperately, filling Persephon’s mouth with his dick. He moaned as those lush lips wrapped around his shaft, tongue laving at what it could reach, cheeks hollowing with the dragging _suck_. “Oooh, _Fuck..”_  

His mouth was scalding in the most delirious and delightful way. He couldn’t help the stuttering thrust of his hips. He pressed deeper each time, balls tightening as he watched the struggle and twitch of Persephon’s throat as the head pushed into the back of his mouth.

Persephon’s moans chased his cock every time he withdrew, drool seeping down his chin, into his beard, face turning red with the strain of not gagging and holding his breath. Lust filled his eyes, which were now locked onto Hades’. “Oh, _Ilios_ , you have no idea how good your mouth feels.” He dropped his head back again, fucking up into that sweet, wet suction. “Mmm, you’re so _good_  at this.”

He felt the telltale pressure rising in his balls, his dick growing stiffer, his climax sweeping in faster than he’d anticipated. With a pained snarl he pulled his cock free, flopping back against the chair, panting hard and fast as his body churned and roiled over the loss.

Persephon used some of the discarded clothing to wipe his face, crawling up Hades’ body to straddle his lap again, lips sealing against his neck, teeth sinking deep, mouth sucking hard to raise a dark bruise. Hades hissed, head twisting to allow better access, Persephon chuckled low against his skin, “So in charge, but you wanna be fucked just as bad, don’t you?”

He gasped, groaning out a reply, “Fuck, yes.”

“Do you really think you could take my cock? We might have to work up to it.” Persephon’s breath was fire against his skin and his whole body tingled with the sensation. “But once we did- _mmm-”_ He emphasized the moaning grunt with a thrust of his hips, his cock sliding against Hades’, “once we did can you imagine how good it’d feel? How full? Fuck I bet you’re tight.”

Hades body was flushed and, for the first time, it felt hot. His skin was tiched, too tight and his body writhed, needing to move. “ _Fuck_.” He spat, seizing Persephon’s lips in a branding kiss, “Why don’t we find out how tight _you_  are?” One hand dug through a drawer in the table beside the chaise, returning with a small jar.

Persephon cocked a brow, “And what is _that_?”

It was Hades’ turn to smirk, uncorking it and coating up three fingers, “You can’t honestly thing I’ve spent all this time, kissing, touching, watching you walk around with damned flowers in your hair, smelling of the first spring rain and tasting like sunshine over a clear lake, and not once gotten the urge to relieve myself of the thoughts?”

Persephon wanted to be offended or disgusted but, with one of Hades’ fingers swiping across his hole, and his lips hot on his throat the only thought he could conjure was _well thank the gods_.

He gasped, body pitching forward, hands braced tight against the back of the chair as the first of Hades’ nimble fingers slipped into him. It pressed deep, slowly stroking him, crooking and twisting, stretching him easily, the muscle willing and pliable under his careful touch.

Hades groaned at the feeling of Persephon’s tight, hot body around his finger. He gave a few shallow thrusts, waiting to hear the first, hushed moans before withdrawing completely to begin adding a second finger. “Fuck, I’m not sure how long I can do this, you feel incredible- so tight, so hot.” He thrusted the pair of fingers roughly into him, reveling in the sensation.

Persephon gasped with each thrust, “Ah- ah-… ah, fuck, Hades.” His fingers pressed deep, Hades’ palm flat against his ass, his fingers wriggling deep inside. It wasn’t enough, though, no amount of fingers could be enough, he wanted to feel Hades insdie of him, wanted to ride him just like this. He pushed his hips back against the intrusion, showing Hades just what he wanted, and how badly he wanted it.

Hades couldn’t hold back a soft moan at the eager thrusting, quickly slipping in a third finger, now working slowly to stretch and ply the yielding muscle. “You’re just opening right up for me, aren’t you?” He bit at Persephon’s earlobe, “So eager.” He punctuated the word with a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, jolting Persephon’s whole body forward. He pumped his fingers in and out, sinking into the delicious chorus of moans and gasps that poured from Persephon’s mouth.

“Fuck, just take me.” He ground out, eyes squeezed shut, cock leaking, ass needing more than three slim fingers.

Hades obliged, scooping some of the slick on to himself and giving it a few steady pumps to spread it. He helped Persephon align himself and then leaned back, hands resting on Persephon’s hips, mouth suddenly dry, breath ragged and sharp. He couldn’t hold back a soft cry as Persephon began to sink down onto him. He felt the tight ring of muscle give way, stretching tight around his cock. “Fuck.” His eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching tight on Persephon’s hips, resisting every itch and urge to shove him down while he thrust his hips up.

Persephon moaned, slowly dropping lower and lower, the stretch and burn fogging his brain with delirious pleasure. He’d seen how big Hades was, had felt it in his mouth but this, this was so different. It felt like his cock would never end, sinking deeper and deeper into him, finally ending just when he thought he would burst. He stayed seated for a moment, breath coming out in harsh pants. “Fuck, Hades.”

“Yes, fuck Hades.” Hades pressed Persephon’s hips up an inch or so and then dropped him back down on his cock. Persephon’s head flew back, lips parted, swollen and abused, panting towards the ceiling. With a few fresh breaths in his lungs he pressed himself up, hands braced on the chair back, on either side of Hades. He cried out as he dropped down again, hips gaining speed, the wet slap of skin echoing around them.

Hades was helping, hands tight on his hips, pushing him up and pulling him back down, hips jerking up in time, meeting Persephon half way down, bouncing him back up. Their pace quickened, Persephon’s thighs began to burn but the pleasure searing through him drowned out all other sensation. He moaned openly, bouncing hard and fast in Hades’ lap, allowing his hands to guide his motions.

A particularly deep thrust bowed Persephon’s back, his body sitting up rigid and straight as Hades continued to thrust into him. He cried out suddenly, body spasaming around Hades. “Oh fuck…” He dropped his head forward, “Oh fuck, Hades, again.”

Hades smirked and thrust up again, hitting the same angle and pleasure exploded through Persephon’s body. “Yes, yes, just… Fuck, like that. Right… fuck, there.” Hades supposed Persephon’s hips with one hand, the other wrapping tight and hot around his dick. He pumped his cock in time with his punishing thrusts, hips slapping hard and fast, jerking Persephon’s body with each sheathing. Persephon was helpless to Hades’ ministrations, body writhing in pleasure and need, he could feel his building orgasm, could feel the bubbling pressure drawing from his balls and stiffening his cock.

“Ah- Hades, fuck, I"m… I’m-”

Hades breath was hot across his hear, “Come for me, I want to feel you coming around my cock.”

One last, wanton cry and Persephon went still, fingers going white against Hades’ shoulders, body tight as a bow string, pleasure burning and exploding through every synapse. Persephon’s walls pulsed around Hades’ cock, milking it as he began to rutt with renewed ferocity into him.

“Fuck, _Ilios_.. Oh _Ilios_ … Fuck-… I’m-” He thrust up one last time and he was coming, hot and hard, “Persephon! A-ah, fuck, Persephon!” He buried his cock as deep in Persephon’s ass as he could, riding out the pulsing waves with gentle, reflexive jerks of his hips.

They remained still, labored breaths evening out, pounding hearts petering into normal rhythm once more. Persephon was the one to roll away, snatching a discarded article of clothing to clean his front, then passing it to Hades to allow him the same luxury. Silence swarmed around them once more, each trying to collect his thoughts, decide what it was that should be said next.

“You look magnificent like this.” Hades finally murmured, head rolling to the side to gaze at Persephon, the passion of the previous moment slipping into lazy post-sex exhaustion.

“Have you always missed me?”

Hades paused at the non sequitur, “Every day, every year since I first saw you.”

“Then why did you let me leave?”

“You did not belong here. You are of life and spring. You would wither in this place.”

Persephon nodded, considering the words carefully, “Then why didn’t you just join me on Earth? You could have assumed mortal form for a time. Zeus does.”

At the mention of his brother, Hades scoffed, “Zeus does so to keep Hera from finding out about his trysts.” But that had not been the point and he relented, answering the true question asked, “I am selfish. You bring life into this place and your light lingers long after you are gone. Having you here makes it… bearable.”

“Just bearable?” Persephon sighed dramatically, “I’ll have you know I make it down right lovely here. All gold and grey.” He plucked at the faded cushion below them, “I just don’t know how you lived with out me here.” His tone was lofty and sarcastic and drew a faint smile to Hades’ lips.

He reached out, turning Persphon’s head to face him. Hades swept his lips across Persephon’s, sighing into the lazy, lingering kiss. “Nor do I, _Ilios.”_

“Finally, some appreciation-”

“Sssshhhh-” He hushed, sinking their lips together once more. Persephon smiled into the kiss, their mouths working slowly and easily together. For once he was happy not to speak and deafening silence around them felt almost comfortable. It would take time yet but he could almost say he was home.


End file.
